Valerie Gray: Tales Of Daddy's desire

Crazy times!

I turn 14 in that summer before my freshman year-I am seduced my father and now my body is sore, my sex well-thumped. I squeeze my legs together, feeling my clit, mashing it between my thighs, remembering, longing for when my dad gets back home from work. Six p.m. I will be ready. I want him again.

It started just over two years ago. I was 11, three weeks shy of my 12th birthday. My mom got up one morning, and left. No goodbye! No I love you! No note.

That's all she wrote.

My dad and I were devastated. We were cheated. We had no warning of the coming split. We felt like she gut kicked us. Dad, financially set in his college teaching job, struggled with guilt. Blamed himself most of the time. I never really understood why mom left. And nobody confided in me. I was the child. My dad and I spent hours together, consoling, hugging, crying. I was closer to my dad than ever before. Our lives continued.

I grew up quickly. Dad needed my help. All the things we took for granted now fell on my shoulders in addition to my school work. Cooking, cleaning, school, homework, became a daily routine. We were happy!

A year passed quickly. We never heard a word from my mom. Dad did receive papers shortly after mom split, then the divorce went quickly. She never called me. She missed Christmas, my birthday, dad's birthday. She dropped us and went on with life.

Dad was super during this time. He devoted all his time to me and my activities. I turned 16 during the spring of my sophomore year, Dad got me a Jeep. Had it lifted, nice wheels, rims. It looked great! And I looked good driving it. It was fun to have Dad help me pull the top and doors. Stepping out, my long legs stretched to hit the pavement. It accented my long, lithe legs. So high heeled sandals, short shorts, and a tube top were to be the norm during the summer months.

I was fortunate and not expected to have to work. Dad believed that I should enjoy the summer months, see friends, visit the theme park or water park on a regular basis. And, I did not want the thrill of looking for a summer job anyways. We traveled internationally during my summer before my senior year. Dad always came up with the super vacation. He mentioned another “graduation” surprise trip abroad again are in the plans. Now, graduation was just two weeks away.

Dad has been interesting during the second year after mom left. He trimmed his body weight down, purchased a set of home gym equipment, filled our basement with all the best baubles to work out. I got in the habit of working out with him during the evening.

We worked hard, and it soon showed. My body transformed. My arms gained definition, muscles cutting to show my form. My abdomen dropped any body fat I had, and almost rippled with tone. And my legs, my calves, thighs grew taunt, firm with leg lifts, and the many, many miles we put in on the treadmills. Dad even purchased a second one so we could do our mileage together. After the year of hard work, my 5'7” body weighed in at 120 lbs. I could almost make my tits dance by flexing my pecs. A size B cup, they were pert, topped nicely with a large nipple. I had Dad put mirrors on the wall.

He steals glances.

I watch him when he doesn't know it.

Dad stands 6'2", broad shouldered, narrow waist, and nice, tight ass. Dad wears the same ol' stuff all the time to work out. He's either in a tank top or t-shirt, an old ratty pair of athletic shorts, socks and running shoes. I catch myself glancing at him as well. I try to get a peek up his shorts. Best shots have come in the mirror when I am spotting him on the bench press. The bench points directly at a mirror, and with his legs dropped on each side, I sometimes get a quick glance at his covered package. I hope he is looking at my crotch inches from his head. I stand inches from him, my legs parted, and spot his lifting. I have even rocked my hips back and forth while he lifts. He never seems to notice.

As I experienced a change in my body, Dad's shape also changed drastically. He is really hot for a guy in his late 30's. Well toned, tanned, and muscular, his whole attitude has changed. Teaching, he met younger ladies around campus. I swear, many of the ladies he started dating were just out of their teens, early 20s. He would bring them home for dinner often. Nobody stuck around for long.

He favored another teacher from the university named Amanda.

Amanda seemed to be a smaller version of me, or so I thought. She worked out, had a frame similar to mine only several inches shorter, hair style matched mine, and was also brown eyed. Not long after he brought her home and introduced her, she spent her first night in my Dad's bed.

I had no real memory of my Dad's sex life. I had never thought of sex until Amanda. I had never heard mom or Dad engaged in wild, passionate sex. But enter Amanda, my Dad went stupid, and was always grabbing her, squeezing her tits or caressing her ass when he thought I would not see. I started watching to catch the occurrence, wondering why it would make them giggle so.

Now, I am not a prude. I kiss boys, even share tongue. I have been felt up, even had my pussy mound rubbed through my jeans. But other than an inconvenience, I never have spent time thinking about sex to the extent that some of my best girlfriends do. But watching Dad and Amanda, I would find myself wondering about the twinge feelings I would get in my crotch, or why my nipples would go rigid as I glanced around the corner as my Dad twisted Amanda's nipple through her clothes.

What got me was the first night Amanda stayed. I do not believe it was their first time, but the first time I had to deal with the uncomfortable approach of bedtime. We had kicked back watching a DVD in our media room. Dad and Amanda relaxed behind me on the theater seats as I stretched out on the floor. Now late, and me tired, I kissed Dad goodnight, told Amanda I would see her later, and trundled off to bed.

Time passed, I drifted off to a shallow sleep.

I was awakened first by groans. Inaudible, low level groans. I listened, thinking the wind must be blowing. Instantly, concern for my Dad entered my mind. Was he sick? The groans were coming from the hallway. I rose from my bed, following the pale light from the night light, opened my bedroom door quietly. Glancing outside, nothing was there.

As I pulled the door open, I stepped into the hall, glanced toward the stairs, then turned to the sounds emanating from my Dad's bedroom.

I stepped closer to the door.

All was quiet.

I reached to the handle, ready to slowly, deliberately open the door.

“Oh God yes,” my Daddy groaned.

I froze, my fingers wrapped firmly around the door knob.

“Suck me,” Dad commanded. A thousand pictures jumped in my head. My Dad, his hand firmly wrapped around his stiff shaft, pumping, bringing himself to orgasm, or Amanda's lips firmly wrapped around his pulsating cock, face fucking her wet, pliant mouth and throat. Maybe, my Dad, his hand intertwined in her golden hair, jamming his cock in and out of her mouth forcefully.

Wide eyed, scared I would be heard, I jumped back from the door and quickly, quietly, retreated to my room.

Again, my body ached. My mind played the pictures in my head. My girlfriends talked about such matters on more than one occasion. I laughed off such discussions. I did not have any experience, or interest. Now, my nipples rose firmly up from my chest, my sex yearned, my slit growing wet from my body's desires. My hand quickly snaked down my torso, slipped under my panties. I pleased myself for the next 20-minutes, flashing my created pictures in my head. I drifted to a restless sleep.